


Swan's Seven

by shireness



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ocean's 8 AU, art heist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-06-22 04:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19660321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireness/pseuds/shireness
Summary: After two years behind bars, Emma's out, and she's got a plan in mind. Now to put together the perfect team...Let's stage an art heist.(A CS Ocean's 8 AU)





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for joining me for another fun MC! I've got big plans for this. Special shoutout to my beta, @snidgetsafan.
> 
> Rated T for language.
> 
> Enjoy!

It feels odd, changing back into regular clothes after two years in a prison jumpsuit. Not bad, obviously - orange was never really Emma’s color anyways — just… odd. The black leather dress still fits like a glove, she’s pleased to note, and her arms are looking better than ever. That little tidbit is almost enough to keep Emma from slipping her treasured red leather jacket over the top — almost. A girl’s got to have her armor and a signature piece, after all. 

“You gonna behave yourself, Ms. Swan?” the guard posted at the release desk asks as she hands over the last of the possessions Emma was arrested with - a pitifully small handbag. Emma resolves to burn it as soon as possible — less for the bad memories, more because it barely holds two cards and a hundred dollars cash. 

Not that she’s been blessed with such a  _ generous _ sum. “Don’t I always, Marcie,” she chuckles darkly. “Besides, how much trouble can I get into with $32.17?”

$3.17 of it is in change. She’ll be lucky if she can get a cab to a train station with that kind of money.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Marcie grumbles. She looks like she’s suppressing a smile, though; she always was one of the guards Emma got along with. “Get out of here, and don’t let me see you next year.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The sunlight feels different, too, as Emma walks out the front doors and down the path to the parking lot. It’s not that she hasn’t been outside in two years; even in New York, they get time in the prison yard, so that’s obviously not the case. But knowing that she can enjoy the sunlight in longer than one-hour spurts is a different thing altogether, and wholly intoxicating.

She’s so busy soaking in the sunshine and her new-found freedom that it takes Emma a moment to notice the figure waiting where the fence gives way to cars and asphalt: lean, dark haired, dressed to kill. Regina.

“Hot date?” the other woman drawls, not even bothering to look up from where a perfectly manicured thumbnail navigates her phone. Emma wouldn’t expect anything less from her partner in crime. Emma and Regina met six years ago while both attempting to con the same mark, and had been criminally inseparable ever since (and she’s still particularly proud of the fake charity cons they used to run on wealthy, pervy men, happy to toss a few thousand dollars their way without checking their credentials too closely in hopes of getting into Regina’s pants). In all that time, Emma’s never seen her look anything but immaculately put together in perfectly tailored garments, expertly paired with that air of casual boredom she’s perfected. Beneath the cold exterior, Emma knows, lies a terrifying loyalty, however. It’s probably not a coincidence that that fucker Neal Cassidy wound up arrested mere months after setting up Emma to take the fall for his crimes, still landing her an accessory conviction after his stupid watches were found in her trunk despite the police’s inability to put her at scene of the crime — and indeed, surveillance video proved she hadn’t been the one breaking into cases. But Emma went to prison, and Regina… well, Emma wouldn’t be surprised if Regina got a little payback, even if she’d never admit to it. 

“I don’t know, depends on who’s at the insurance convention you’re attending,” Emma shoots back. The perfectly matched trousers, blazer, and vest certainly suggest business more than a casual afternoon; an uninformed bystander would certainly be forgiven for thinking Regina was Emma’s lawyer instead of a fellow conwoman.

Despite the teasing introductions, Emma still doesn’t hesitate to wrap her friend into a tight hug. “Missed you, Reg,” she whispers.

“Me too,” is the barely audible response, before Regina pulls back to briskly brush at her precisely creased pants. “That’s enough of that. I thought prison wasn’t supposed to make you go soft, E, control yourself. I’ll still give you a lift into the city, if you want.”

“I’m counting on a lot more than that,” Emma comments as they climb into the black Volvo — nice, but not flashy, hovering just below the radar. Just the way they both like it. Emma idly wonders who stole it. “I’m gonna need a place to crash.”

Regina shoots her a sideways glance, full of skepticism. Regina Mills doesn’t do confusion. “Not running off to see brother dearest and whatever disgusting fairy tale he’s living in backwoods Maine?”

“Not yet.”

Regina hums in sudden understanding. “Ah. You’ve got a job in mind.”

“And I don’t want him involved,” Emma finishes. 

“What’s the job?”

“I’ll tell you when we get back to your place,” Emma promises. “You’ll like it, though, it’ll be a fun one. And besides, it’s a favor for an old friend.”

Most of the rest of the 90 minute drive into the city passes in silence — not that Emma minds. It gives her a chance to run over the plan in her head again before she has to tell Regina. Still, they’re pulling up in front of the warehouse space that always manages to look  _ just  _ this side of abandoned. Regina had the business savvy at some point to buy up the building with some of the money she’d accumulated over the years, and last Emma heard, it was a thriving nightclub.  _ Poison Apple _ . Terrible name, in Emma’s opinion, but she’s not the one running the place. 

The inside is the same as always, full of exposed metal beams and carefully cultivated rust. Emma knows that at night, when this place is packed with revelers, the lights (what few of them exist) illuminate in bronze and gold shades, really encouraging the steampunk fairytale feeling in here. The unusual wishing well on one side of the room helps with that too, as does the apple tree growing under the grimy window panels that make up the slant of the roof. Emma finds those touches just as ridiculous as the name, but you can’t deny that there’s a theme going. And anyways, they can make good money pulling change out of the wishing well after the end of the weekend. 

The apartment upstairs is much the same, minus the ridiculous fairytale decor. It’s been shined up, however, in a way that the club hasn’t been. Regina’s taste has always tended towards the luxurious and ornate, in a way that should be anachronistic against the metal and brick, but isn’t. The scrolled and gilded furniture is more comfortable than the minimalistic metal and leather Emma would have expected of an industrial space anyways, so Emma doesn’t have much space to pass any judgement.

“There’s a spare bedroom upstairs,” Regina says, tossing her keys onto the kitchen counter. Dark wood, white granite. Nice. “Make yourself at home.”

“What, with all my baggage?” Emma snorts.

“Fine, don’t then,” Regina snipes back, opening the fridge to toss Emma a beer. “Don’t come whining to me later about how I’m not being hospitable or some shit.”

“I’ve got a drink, what else do I need?” Emma collapses onto the couch. It feels good to finally toe her heels off, even if she can’t kick them across the room with a polished wood coffee table in the way that definitely cost more than the $32.17 in her wallet. God, what was the Emma of two years ago thinking with these torture devices?

Oh. Yeah. Horribly in love, planning to maybe use the heels to coax her date into a wild night of sex. That’d explain it. 

“Oh, well, now that you’re here, what about that explanation? You said you had a plan in mind for some job?” Regina, of course, has somehow managed to conjure up a glass of wine for herself. Beer is for the peasants or something.

“The job of the century,” Emma promises.

“Yes, that’s great. The details?” Nothing is more entertaining than an impatient, pissed off Regina. It’s probably a miracle they haven’t killed each other yet. 

Emma savors the moment for one more sip of her beer before finally spilling. “Zelena West. You know her?”

“Personally? No,” Regina snorts. “But Zelena West, pharmaceutical titan and socialite? Yes, Emma, I know of her. You’re the one who’s been in prison, not me.”

Emma ignores the jab. “You’re aware about her art collecting, then? The gallery she runs for the public?”

“Again, I haven’t been living under a rock, E.”

“And you know about the upcoming collaboration between the West Collection and the Big Apple Ballet? Big exhibit in BAB’s gallery about the intersection of dance and art?”

“Yes…” Regina trails off as the details finally sink in. “You’re planning an art heist.”

“Bingo.”

“A classic, certainly. Seems a bit of a risk, though, especially since you’re fresh out of prison. Why would you want to go after such a big fish right away?”

“Like I said, it’s a favor for an old friend.” She takes another swig of her beer. “It’ll be fun, besides. And it’ll work.”

“Yes, well, that’s left to be seen,” Regina grumbles. “Tell me everything, start to finish. Every motive, every step, every player, or so help me god, Emma, I won’t lift a finger to help you with this. I don’t intend to be caught attempting a fool’s gambit.”

So she does. Emma’s had a lot of time to think through this, and has run it in her head countless times. She knows every inch of this plan inside and out — and by the time she’s done speaking, Regina does too. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this… but I think it might work.” The wine has long since been consumed in the course of their conversation, but Regina sounds like she needs another glass after being conned into that admittance. “You’ll need a crew though. This isn’t something we can pull off on our own, I can tell you that now.”

“Oh, I know that,” Emma readily agrees. She’d been prepared for this. “We’re definitely going to need a xerox, a code wrangler, and a can opener. Maybe a fairy fingers, for good measure.”

“Never know when you’re going to need a good fairy,” Regina agrees. “You’re going to need a good garage sale, too.”

“For sure. Someone who’s already tapped into that world.”

“So five, plus you and I… you really think we can pull this off with seven players?”

“I really do.”

“I’ll put out feelers tomorrow, start collecting resumes.” Regina stands, carefully straightening out her pants. “It’s good to have you back in the game, Emma. I was worried that once you got out, you’d run off to live some boring Rockwell life with your brother.”

“Not me. Once a con, always a con,” Emma toasts before finishing off her beer. 

And that’s the truth of it, really — this is in her blood. The one thing Emma Swan is better at than anything is conning people out of their money. It brought her a family, and a purpose, and a challenge to face every morning. She’s not sure she can imagine any other kind of life, or that she’d want to. Day after day crammed into a cubicle just isn’t for her. 

“Let’s go stage an art heist,” it’s easy to declare, easier than riding a bike, almost easier than breathing.

Emma Swan is back in the game. 


	2. Chapter Two

Regina has always been good at finding the exact right person for any given job, and it seems that hasn’t changed in the two years that Emma has been away. She somehow knows everybody who’s anybody in this business, like the criminal version of a recruiter or HR lady. She’d probably hate being called that, but it’s an apt comparison. 

Only days after Emma divulges her plan to Regina, she’s presented with a short stack of manila folders - Regina’s top choices for their needs.

“I think you’ll be pleased,” she says as Emma flips through the top folder. It’s just a cursory glance, really; Emma trusts Regina’s judgement implicitly after all their years as a pair. “They’re the best I could find.”

“I’m sure they are,” Emma replies nonchalantly. “You’ve got them scheduled to come in for an interview or whatever?”

“Later today,” Regina agrees, before fixing Emma with a stern look. “You’re going to play nice, right? We need these people, I can’t have you getting all demanding or treating them like they’re idiots.”

“Ok, first of all, it’s an interview, there’s going to be questions so I can’t really help the demanding thing. Second of all, why the hell am  _ I  _ the one we’re worried about getting uppity? That’s kind of your thing, scaring people off with a condescending sniff.” Emma really hadn’t meant to sound quite so demanding with that list, but that’s the result anyways. Maybe Regina has a point - though Emma still thinks her partner is the one who needs the warning to “play nice”. Whatever that means. Fuck it all, they’re career conpersons, the nice line has already kind of been blown to smithereens. 

Regardless, the warning proves unnecessary, since Emma can tell within minutes that Regina’s first candidate is exactly who they’ve been looking for.

“Emma, this is Ruby Lucas. Ruby, Emma Swan.” With the way Regina makes introductions, you’d think they were having some fancy corporate business meeting, not planning an art heist above a nightclub. Emma has the strongest urge to start offering business cards. “Ruby’s a safecracker - the best on the east coast.”

“Well…” Ruby drawls, her red-painted lips twisting into something wry and just shy of wolfish. Emma thinks it kind of suits the brunette, especially paired with her casual sprawl across one of Regina’s stiff backed chairs. 

As much as Emma is amused, however, Regina is not. That eye roll could probably be seen from space. “Fine. The best on the east coast who  _ hasn’t _ decided to retire to some disgusting fairytale in backwoods Maine like a goddamn schmuck. Better? Satisfied?”

“Better. Satisfied is a whole other thing, sweetcheeks,” Ruby winks salaciously. Not that there seems to be any heat behind it; if Emma had to guess, it’s just a flirtatious habit. There are worse habits to have, really. Her flirting accomplished, Ruby focuses her attention on Emma. “So. I hear you have a plan.”

“I do. Did Regina brief you on the specifics?”

Ruby nods. “Brantley 3900, she said. Digital fingerprint system on top of a trio of combo locks, plus an acid failsafe. I could use some info about the big picture plan, though.”

“We’ll get there,” Emma promises. Ruby isn’t at all what she would have expected of their safecracker in her short skirt and high heels and bright red hair streaks - especially when Emma’s used to dealing with her brother for this kind of thing - but she likes the saucy brunette. That flirtatious energy could really come in handy, if they play their cards right. “You think you can break it?”

“No problem,” Ruby replies with her bubbling confidence. “We’ll just need those prints, and the rest is all tumblers. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Emma looks to Regina, who inclines her head in a subtle nod. Excellent; they’re on the same page, then. “You’re hired.”

Their next candidate - a computer whiz and hacker - might as well be Ruby’s polar opposite. Elsa Frost shows up in a neat skirt suit and heels that only emphasize her pale skin and white blonde hair, dressed for all appearances like she’s interviewing at a law firm. For god’s sake, she even brings resumes in a file folder, the two pages paper clipped for maximum convenience. You can’t make this shit up. Emma wonders idly if their prospective keyboard artist has any idea what she’s walked into.

Surprisingly, reading the resume provided is illuminating. Ms. Frost certainly does know what she’s here for (“And this is an art theft, yes?”), but she cut her teeth, so to speak, in providing network security for major banks. Really, there’s no one better to hack past security systems than someone who made a career trying to prevent exactly that. 

Emma still has questions, however. Namely: “How exactly did you end up on the less legal side of things?” It’s more than a valid question, considering the formal interview attire. It seems that Elsa doesn’t know how these things usually play out. 

“I have a sister,” Elsa explains. “She’s the only family I have in the world, and she just got engaged. To a Central Park carriage driver. Wants the whole big to-do, which of course is very expensive. You know, the big white dress and the massive cake and the three courses and the specialty cocktail. So I’ve been looking into… alternative income streams.”

“Admirable,” Regina drawls, clearly unimpressed. “But there are plenty of other ways to make money. Legal ones. I’m sure you could make a very generous living just off of consulting with your skills. Why  _ this _ ?”

Elsa flushes, the rush of blood especially evident beneath her pale skin. Still, Regina and Emma wait in silence. They don’t need someone on their team who’s a risk, and that kind of motive makes any con with common sense worry their contact will go to the police when all is said and done. So they’ll wait, as long as it takes Elsa to come up with a real answer or prove herself too much of a risk to gamble on.

She cracks, of course. Facing down two such intimidating stares, anyone would. “Maybe I was bored,” Elsa finally says. Her chin lifts with the words like she’s trying to muster all her dignity - not that it works. “I’d done security for Wall Street firms and major banks for years. Eventually, you tire of trying to close all the loopholes that hackers are testing. Your entire career and your entire life becomes reactionary. Working on the other side… I get to exercise a little more creativity and problem solving and thinking outside the box, which is why I fell in love with programming in the first place.”

Emma makes eye contact with Regina and shrugs. “Works for me.”

Elsa stares back, disbelieving. “That’s it? That’s what you needed to hear?”

“We get boredom,” Emma explains.

“And we absolutely understand thinking the criminal side is a little more fun,” Regina adds. Like she knows anything about fun. 

(Ok, that’s not fully true; Emma half remembers a few tequila nights. Regina gets rowdy when she has enough to drink.)

“Where we’re going with this,” Emma finishes, “is that you’re in if you want it. I trust that after all that banking experience, you can work your way around their firewalls and whatnot?”

“Sure can. Check the bar’s accounts if you don’t believe me, I took the liberty of going ahead and transferring my $100 consultation fee.”

Well, that’s one way to prove your point.

“So that’s two down. Who’s next?” Emma asks after Elsa and her business suit depart.

Regina smirks. “Field trip.”

The field trip is to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where they watch a young woman paint a replica of one of the portraits - a particularly unflattering source work featuring a distinctly masculine-looking woman. It makes the reproduction their prospective partner is working on all the more impressive, that she’s able to replicate that particular variety of unfortunate realism. 

“Belle French,” Regina explains under her breath. “She should be a rising young artist on the New York scene after graduating from Columbia, but tastes these days run a little more abstract and her style probably leans closest to the romantic or rococo. Instead, she’s stuck teaching intro level courses at a local community college.”

“What a waste.”

“Indeed. She’s absolutely broke and absolutely talented, and absolutely desperate. Teaching shitty freshmen who can’t draw a straight line and want to argue about their grades constantly does things to a person, or so I’d imagine. If we play our cards right, make the right approach…”

“She could be our girl.” Our forger, Emma means, but that’s a stupid thing to say out loud in an art museum.

“She could.”

Emma observes for just a moment longer before nodding decisively and making her move. She’s the one who’s got tact, after all; as good as Regina is about searching people out, she’s a little too blunt for this kind of negotiation.

“That looks beautiful,” Emma comments when she’s standing just behind Belle’s shoulder. “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you!” Where Elsa blushes, Belle beams. Here, it’s a sign of someone who’s been denied warranted validation for too long, and who’s looking to gobble it up even from unusual sources. It’s a good sign for their purpose; even if they’re cons, Emma and Regina can provide the validation she seems to be craving. 

“Is this just a hobby, or do you do this for a living?” Emma knows the answer, of course, but that might as well be rule number one of running a con: never show all your cards.

Belle makes a little wistful, frustrated noise. “Oh, I wish. This is just my free time, unfortunately. Hopefully it will help me hone my skills.”

“I don’t know. From where I’m standing, you look pretty skilled already. If this is your dream, I don’t think the talent issue is what’s keeping you from reaching it.”

“Yes, well, my dreams also feature millions of dollars and a functional love life. Some things, unfortunately, just aren’t going to happen, and I’m afraid this might be one of them.”

“I think I can help with some of that, at least,” Emma smiles. “I’d love to take you to coffee, maybe discuss it a little.”

“Like a job? Painting?” Belle’s skepticism is plastered all over her face. Not that Emma can blame her; it probably sounds just a little too good to be true.

“Something like that.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I absolutely am, if you’re interested in learning more.”

It’s a close thing, Emma thinks, but Belle does show up in the back corner of Regina’s favorite little Italian bakery an hour later.

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t exactly a legal opportunity that you want to talk about?” Belle asks right away. Still, she seems utterly unfazed by the idea of it as she calmly sips a cappuccino. 

“Probably because it isn’t,” Emma replies, equally calm.

“Hypothetically,” Regina makes sure to add. Maybe that’s what she should have been in another life - a lawyer for the mob. Not that it matters, especially since Emma changes her mind every other time Regina opens her mouth. 

“ _ Hypothetically _ ,” Emma makes sure to emphasize, “we’re planning a job that would require someone with top notch artistic skills.”

“And you think that someone is me.”

“Hypothetically, yes,” Regina agrees. 

“But why me?” Belle argues. “I’m barely good enough to teach a bunch of college students. What makes you think that I’m skilled enough for whatever you have in mind -  _ hypothetically _ have in mind?”

“Your style, ironically the very thing that’s really kept you from breaking into the art world, is exactly what we need for our purposes.” Somehow, Regina manages to make it all sound completely reasonable, though Emma knows it’s not. They’re talking about forgery and theft, for Christ’s sake. 

“And if I say no?”

“Then this conversation never happened,” Emma replies easily. “Look, my partner may be a little over-enthusiastic with the  _ hypothetically _ s, but it means we haven’t actually been planning anything in a way that you could take to the police. Look, I’ll be level with you - we can probably find another artist if need be. They’re out there. But they’re not  _ you _ , Ms. French, and when we say we want the best, that’s you. For better or worse. The payout - sorry, the  _ hypothetical _ payout would be more than enough to set you up. No more teaching brats with an attitude. We can help your originals find a way to market - legitimate or otherwise. There’s a lot of doors you can open with the kind of money we’re talking about.”

“Think about it and let us know.” Regina slides a card across the table - blank except for a starkly printed phone number. A burner, obviously, and perfect for what they have in mind. “You’re just the woman we need, and I think we’re just the opportunity you need.”

Emma and Regina barely make it to the end of the next block before the phone buzzes. 

_ I’m in. _

Two pieces to go.

It’s a relatively short cab ride to Battery Park, where Regina says they’ll find their next crew member. “This is the pickpocket?” Emma asks as they stroll past a particularly fragrant food cart. Ah, New York. 

“This is the pickpocket,” Regina echoes back. “Tink Green. Young, but talented. She could easily break into larger jobs if she had the inclination, though I’m not sure that she does.”

“Tink? Seriously?”

“I know.” Regina rolls her eyes. “But yes, seriously. No idea what her real name is, she refuses to tell. If you have to have a stupid nickname, though, might as well make it a bad fairy fingers pun.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” A crowd is gathered up ahead along the railings bordering the river. “So where is she?”

“You see the blonde weaving through the crowd?” Regina asks, nodding in a general direction. “With the bun and the scarf and the headphones?”

“Yeah?” The woman in question looks utterly distracted - just another twenty-something absorbed in her phone.

“Watch.”

It looks like any other passing interaction - a distracted pedestrian not watching where they’re going, despite passerbys’ attempts to step around her. However, Emma’s a thief. She can spot the way that when the blonde bumps into an unsuspecting businessman, only the hand holding her phone comes up to brace on his torso, while the other steals into his coat pocket.

“Smooth,” she mutters. “I wonder if that’s all she’s got.”

Regina smiles a wicked, amused smile. “Let’s go find out, shall we?”

“Just make sure you don’t have anything valuable in your pockets.”

With the leisurely pace Tink saunters along at - just the right speed to feign distraction and avoid any serious attention - it’s easy for Emma and Regina to catch up along either side. “Impressive show,” Emma comments casually.

She’ll give the pickpocket this - she’s a good faker. Emma only sees the momentary flash of recognition tinged with panic because she’s looking for it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies. Tink’s accent is unusual; Australian, maybe, or possibly New Zealander. 

“That lift,” Emma continues. “Very well done. Practically seamless.”

“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you’ve got the wrong person. Now if you’ll excuse me…” Tink’s eyes flit briefly to either side, looking for an easy escape like any good con.

“Oh relax,” Regina cuts in with that exasperated drawl she’s perfected. “We’re not here to bust you. We’ve actually got a job. Think of this as your interview.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Regina Mills. This is my partner, Emma Swan.” Tink straightens, almost imperceptibly. “Ah, so you know who we are.”

“Run with a certain crowd, and it’d be hard not to.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Emma replies. “Like Regina said, we’ve got a job. Need someone with light fingers. A little teamwork and big payout.”

“How big?”

“Big enough not to say in such a public place.” Regina produces another card. “If you’d like to know more, come by the Poison Apple the day after tomorrow, around 2pm. We’ll share all the details with the team then. That is, if you’re interested.”

“I might be,” Tink hazards.

“Anything holding you back?” Emma asks. It’s obvious Tink is the woman for the job - talented and just charming enough for a little undercover prep work if need be. If there’s anything they can say to get her on board right now, Emma will gladly do it.

“Who’s the mark?”

Not the question she’d anticipated, but Emma can roll with it. “Zelena West.”

Unexpectedly, the other blonde bursts into a peal of laughter. “That piece of work?”

“The very same,” Regina replies with a wry smile.

“In that case, count me in. About time that bitch got what’s coming to her.”

Who knew it could be so easy - uniting a group of people around hatred of one disgustingly rich woman?

——— 

The last thing Emma expects to see when she and Regina finally make it back to the loft about the nightclub is a man already waiting outside the door, rocking back and forth on his heels with both hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. As Regina wrangles the lock, the man springs to attention. “Ms. Mills?”

“Yes, yes, come in.” She’s obviously expecting him, as she holds the door wide open for the man to walk through, though her face never changes from mild irritation. Typical Regina. Though Emma can’t imagine why she’s letting him in to start with. 

“This one of your vendors, Regina?” she asks, closing the door. The man has come to stand in the middle of the room, looking around like he’s waiting for something.

Regina scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, Emma, the bar’s vendors come on Monday. This is our fence.”

Emma isn’t entirely sure what face she’s making, but it’s certainly not good. “ _ Him _ ?” she asks needlessly, earning herself an eye roll.

“No, the other man standing in the corner.  _ Yes,  _ him. This is Killian Jones.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma,” he says - warmly enough, she’ll grant - extending a hand to shake. 

Unfortunately for him, Emma’s not in a mood for  _ warmly enough _ . “We are  _ not _ on a first name basis,” she all but snaps before quickly pivoting to address Regina. “Can I talk with you for a moment?”

“What is your problem, Emma?” Regina hisses once they’re a reasonable distance away. Not that they’ve found true privacy; that doesn’t exactly exist in the loft space.

“He’s a he!” she hisses back.

“How didn’t you know that? I gave you the file.”

“It’s not like I read in-depth or anything! You always give me a little rundown anyways. I saw the name and figured they were a her, not a…  _ him _ .” The last word is practically spat out like a curse. Absolutely melodramatic, not that Emma cares.

“And is that a problem? It’s not like you told me you wanted only women.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I wouldn’t have to when everyone else you offered up was of the female persuasion. Isn’t there anyone else?”

“No. You want the best, I find you the best. That man can find or sell practically anything, like a modern day pirate. Or something less stupid.”

Emma ignores Regina’s denial. “What about Jasmine? She’s great, she’d be good for this.”

Regina shakes her head. “She and Al just had a baby, so she’s out of the game for a while.”

“I guess I can get that. You send something?”

“Gift cards for take out and a card signed with both our names.”

“Oh, thanks for that. What about Kathryn?”

“Went to prison last year. And you hate her anyways after she flirted with your brother.”

“It’s more because she’s a prissy little rich girl who got into the black market because she thought it’d be fun.”

“No, it’s because she was hitting on David. I very narrowly escaped attending a debutante ball, if you remember, so I’m technically one of those prissy little rich girls,” Regina points out.

“Yeah, but I like you,” Emma sighs. “Bet her daddy bribed someone to get her sentence reduced.”

“Oh, undoubtedly. Still doesn’t change the fact that she’s unavailable.”

“What about —” Emma starts, only to be interrupted.

“Look, I’ll go find you someone else if you insist, someone female,” Regina argues, “but they’re not going to be as good as him. There’s no one else out there who’s got the amount of connections in the black market art world that he does, and he’s got strong footholds in advanced tech to boot. Just what we need. So are you going to quit your tantrum and suck it up, or am I going to have to put out feelers again?” She waits for an answer with arms crossed - never an inviting look.

“Fine,” Emma finally grumbles. “But he’s got a lot of ground to make up.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you won’t let him forget it,” Regina mutters back under her breath.

Jones does them all the favor of pretending he didn’t hear any of that conversation when the women rejoin him. “Swan, is it?” he asks, extending that hand again. Today, Emma really feels like the last human on Earth who doesn’t feel a pressing need to follow that particular societal convention.

“That’s me,” Emma replies with as much enthusiasm as she can muster. It’s not much. “Regina says you’re the best around.”

“In more ways than one,” he winks.  _ Mistake _ .

“Let’s get something straight right now: this flirting, or whatever you’re hoping to pull off? It’s not going to work on me,” Emma replies with venom hiding just behind her voice. “We’re here to stage a heist, and all I care about are results. This is about the job, and if you can’t keep it professional, then you can walk back out the door right now and we’ll find someone else.” 

They stare at each other for a moment, Emma hoping to establish her dominance right there and then, before Jones finally cracks a closed-mouthed smile and nods. “Won’t be a problem, Swan. I’m at your disposal.”

“Good. We’ll see you in two days for a full overview of the plan and to get this show on the road.”

“As you wish,” he declares, sketching a short bow. After a last nod to Regina, he leaves again, now a problem for another day.

“I still don’t like him,” Emma declares to Regina. The other woman is smiling like the cat who got the canary, and Emma  _ hates _ it.

“You don’t have to,” the other woman replies, “but he’s going to make this work. You’d be an idiot to fight against that.”

“All I’m saying is he better be as good as you promise.” There’s something about Killian Jones that makes her nervous, something she can’t quite put her finger on. Not his skills; Emma trusts Regina on that front. Something about his attitude, or his confidence. That’s not important right now, though, when there’s plans to make and details to nail down. 

Killian Jones may be an unknown variable, but he’s one she can’t deny they need - and for the moment, that’s more important than any of her concerns. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back, and Killian's finally here! Along with the rest of the team. Still lots of fun action and twists to come, so stay tuned.
> 
> Thanks to my beta, @snidgetsafan, who muddles through all the words I accidentally typed while watching TV. The struggle is real.
> 
> Also posted on tumblr - I'm @shireness-says. Drop me a line, I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> Thanks for all your wonderful comments, and I hope you liked this chapter just as well!


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break! I've been bouncing around with a couple of other things. We've got a good chapter here, though - a bit of planning, a few Easter Eggs for what's coming up, and apparently some opinions about the pharmaceutical industry. Not what you expected, is it?
> 
> Thanks as always to my spectacular beta, @snidgetsafan. Love ya, babe.
> 
> Enjoy!

“You think this will work? That all these… shall we say,  _ unique _ personalities can all work together?” Regina asks, surveying the room in the regal way only she has perfected. 

“I don’t know. I think you could actually argue that they’re already working together, for better or worse,” Emma replies, nodding towards where Tink and Belle are clustered around a storage room door. As far as she can tell from this distance, the pickpocket appears to be attempting to teach their innocent little artist how to pick a lock. Actually, it might have been better not to point that out to Regina, but too late for second thoughts. 

That’s not the only display of comradery in the room, either. They’ve all gathered together in Regina’s nightclub for a first planning summit so that Emma can fully relay the plan in mind and how everyone plays into it. Technically, they were supposed to have started already, but Elsa’s not here yet. Not the end of the world; none of them got into this business because they were great at working a nine-to-five job (except maybe Elsa herself, but then again, she’s the late one, isn’t she?). Ruby keeps calling advice to Tink and Belle from across the room where she’s sitting at the bar, and Killian has somehow gotten behind the counter to mix up some mid-afternoon drinks for everyone. He’s surprisingly agile about it too, for a man with only one hand; maybe, once all this is over, Regina might want to offer him a more legal job at the Poison Apple. 

(She hadn’t noticed the hand the other day, weirdly enough - probably too caught up in her tantrum about his he-ness to pay attention to the fact that he only had one hand to shake. It doesn’t seem to be slowing him down, if his display behind the bar is any indication. Truthfully, it might make him a natural fit for their getaway driver and would free Emma up to supervise the transfer of goods inside. Food for thought, or something.)

“God help us all,” Regina mutters as she surveys Tink’s disaster in the making.

“You don’t keep anything valuable or important in there, right?” Emma checks. They probably don’t need the pickpocket or the fence (or Ruby, come to think of it, though in her case that’s more about consumption than theft concerns) finding the surplus top-shelf liquor. 

“No, just some extra glassware. I’m not  _ that  _ stupid, E.”

Just then, Elsa finally rushes through the door. “I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry I’m late,” she pants, slightly out of breath and practically tripping over her words in her haste to apologize. Unsurprisingly, she wears a pair of fitted dress pants and a gauzy, soft blue blouse - still the most uptight hacker Emma’s ever met, at least in her wardrobe. “I know we were supposed to meet at four, but then Anna called, and she was upset because apparently Sven is sick and I needed to calm her down and — ”

“It’s fine, Ms. Frost,” Regina interrupts smoothly. “I know you’re used to corporate conventions, but this isn’t a line of work where we care quite so much about timeliness. Outside of the actual job, that is.”

“Are you sure?” Elsa’s concern is written all over her face, the kind of stress Emma imagines comes from a lifetime of being expected to be perfect. “I hate to think I inconvenienced anyone.”

“You’re good, it’s no biggie,” Emma assures, pushing off the wall to walk with Elsa across to where a group of chairs are arranged to face a projector screen. “Though out of curiosity… I assume Sven is the fiancé?”

“The horse, actually.”

Unexpected.

The screen is all ready for the presentation, just waiting for someone to pull Powerpoint up, with six chairs conveniently arranged to face it. Regina’s idea, of course; Emma would be more than happy to just sit on the bar and talk, but Regina wants diagrams and interactive maps and a screen for everyone to watch. Emma suspects that she barely stopped short of printing off slide packets like an introductory college geology class.

“Take a seat, we’re about to start,” the woman herself calls, herding their companions together through attitude alone. Emma takes her own position behind the tall cocktail table positioned to the side of the screen. It had been a bare concession of Regina’s; obviously, the laptop is not on the table, hidden elsewhere out of sight. Emma just has to depend on a screen clicker; she had, however, insisted on having something to lean on. Call it keeping up appearances or something. At least there’s just a blank black page instead of an obnoxious title screen. What would that even say?  _ Here is the plan of how we’re going to rob people _ ? It’s ridiculous to even think of.

“You’re all here today because your skills are crucial to pull off this job,” Regina tells the collected attendees once they’ve finally settled into high-backed barstools with varying levels of dignity. Elsa, of course, sits with perfect posture and a notepad, presumably in case she needs to write some of this down; meanwhile, Jones practically drapes himself across the chair in a way that must somehow defy gravity, leaving the other three somewhere in between. “To do this, though, we all have to actually work together and follow instructions. No wiggle room, no negotiations. If you don’t think you can handle that, the time to opt out is now. Anyone?”

The room falls into a heavy silence as she waits for a response. To their credit, no one wavers, though Tink does crane around as if watching for drama about to erupt. When no one backs out, Regina nods once, putting the matter to bed for good. “Excellent. Now then, Emma? Care to bring us all up to speed?”

“Thanks for a very…  _ intense _ intro, Reg.” It was a bit much, honestly. “Hard act to follow. Anyways, welcome, we’re happy to have you here. We’ve brought you all together today - a safecracker, a fence, a forger, a hacker, and a pickpocket — ” Emma nods to each in turn — “to pull off a very specific job, which is what Regina was so crudely referring to. Now, our mark: Zelena West.” She clicks to the appropriate slide, displaying a photo of the woman herself, like she’s about to be introduced at a conference. A very small conference. Of seven cons. “You might know her from such greatest hits as encouraging the current opioid crisis, hiking the price on insulin — ”

“Manufacturing and distributing faulty epipens?” Killian cuts in.

“That’d be her. Real charmer. What’s less known is that she’s an art enthusiast. There’s wings in her family’s name in a whole bunch of big-name museums, and she’s even got her own gallery where she displays her personal collection. With paid admission, of course, because are you  _ truly _ living if you’re not squeezing every penny out of the common man?” Emma can just see the Look Regina shoots her out of the corner of her eye - something exasperated, as if reminding her to  _ stay on topic, E _ . 

(Not that she cares; it’s always been a little fun to annoy Regina, and she’s easy enough to ignore. She usually chooses to take it as a sign she’s doing something right.)

“Steering back on track,” she continues, “what most of you almost certainly don’t know - except maybe Belle - is that the West Collection has an upcoming partnership with the Big Apple Ballet. There’s going to be an exhibit about movement in art at the Ballet’s facilities - they’ve got a small public studio space where they usually display costumes and that kind of thing. This means a lot of things with the Collection are going to be in flux - unusual people coming in and out of their facilities and storerooms for all kinds of reasons.”

“The perfect chance for someone else to sneak in without being noticed,” Ruby comments.

“Exactly. I think we all know where I’m going with this.”

“Art heist!” Tink seems enthusiastic about the prospect to an extent that’s almost concerning - even for a career criminal. Then again, that’s what a huge promised payout (and a wildly unlikable target to boot) can do. 

“That’s right. Now the collection itself — ” she flips the next slide “ — is primarily comprised of 19th century art. Heavy on impressionism, good smattering of rococo, that kind of thing. Do not ask me for explanations of art styles, I taught myself by reading art history books in prison, and probably did a pretty shitty job at that.” They all laugh, even Elsa, just as Emma had hoped. Of course, everyone needs to take the job seriously - they won’t be able to pull it off otherwise - but they won’t be able to pull this off as seven separate islands, either. There needs to be a trust, a comfort with one another - a team that sees each other as indispensable in a way that’s more like family than just coworkers. And that’s got to start now, with breaking the ice and creating the right kind of atmosphere.

“I can help with that if you need,” Belle offers, finding her boldness in this setting so obviously out of her comfort zone. “You’re right on both counts, though, Emma. They’ve got a wonderful collection of bronzes as well.”

“I don’t know what you’re planning, Swan, or if you have particular works in mind, but I can get the tech Belle would need to replicate those as well, if that’s of interest,” Killian adds - helpfully, Emma has to admit.

“That’d be great, actually,” Emma agrees. “We had planned to focus on painted works and some of the sketches, but if you think there’s a market for those bronzes, then yeah, definitely. As long as we’re on the subject, let me pull up the virtual gallery tour so that you guys can get an idea of exactly what we’re talking about.” Quickly, Emma clicks ahead in the slideshow until a map of the gallery fills the screen. Even in panorama pictures, the art is stunning - marbles and bronzes on pedestals, sketches in floor cases, and all manner of paintings surrounding them in a kaleidoscope of color: swirls of impressionist color and achingly realistic modernism and everything in between.

“Beautiful,” Belle murmurs. Even Ruby and Tink look impressed, and Emma wouldn’t exactly peg them for the usual art enthusiasts.

“We’ve got a couple of Degas pieces there, some Toulouse-Lautrec, some Cezanne, a good mix really. Enough big names to really pull in the big bucks, plus a smattering of lesser known but well executed pieces that’ll sell to the right buyer.”

“Do you have specific pieces in mind, yet?” Belle asks, tilting her head to examine the screen in front of her. 

“I like that one with the lady and flowers,” Tink chimes in, nodding towards the top right corner.

“ _ Woman at the Window _ ,” Regina supplies. It’s a lovely piece, actually, featuring a young woman gazing out across a field full of flowers, full of color and life.

“That won’t be one of them,” Emma adds. “Trust me, that one’s worth more in the gallery than in our hands.”

“The artist isn’t one that will pull a big payday,” Regina expands. “It’s just pretty.”

“It is pretty, I’ll give you that,” Emma concedes, before steering them back on topic. “We can figure out the item specifics as we get a better idea of what’s moving. 

“Now, as you can see, the public gallery is essentially one great big room artificially divided by non-structural walls. Basically, they wanted to create display space, and in the process created more security risks, which isn’t a bad thing for us. That being said, most of our focus is going to be back through this staff-only door,” she indicates with the laser pointer.

“The conservation, staging, and vault areas,” Regina clarifies.

“What she said. Like I mentioned earlier, the West Gallery is gearing up for a partnership with the Big Apple Ballet - which means a lot of this stuff is going to be loaned out, and other things put in their place. That’s our opening - when everything is in flux.”

“Before we continue,” Elsa cuts in, “I just want to clarify: if I’m remembering correctly, Belle was introduced as our forger. I guess I don’t quite understand why we need a forger for an art theft.”

“Because it’s not just an art heist, Ms. Frost,” Regina intones. “This is a frame job to boot.”

“Brilliant,” Jones murmurs in a tone of genuine admiration, just loud enough for Emma to hear. 

“I do my best,” Emma smirks. “The art heist will make us a tidy sum, I estimate. You’ll need to pull together some more educated estimates based off the current market, Jones, but this should pull in about seven million dollars. Each.” Emma pauses for effect as an impressed murmur spreads through the line seated in front of her. “It just doesn’t seem like that’s enough of a hit at Zelena West and her empire, though, does it? And lord knows she’s got the money to put the best towards tracking our asses down. 

“So we’re going to frame her for it, make it look like an insurance scam. Be  _ just _ sloppy enough for it to be obvious that someone’s broken in - like knocking out the security guards - take what we want, and leave fakes good enough to pass a first panicked inspection of what’s missing, but not so good that they’ll pass an expert curator’s or an insurance examiner’s inspection. We’ll take a few without replacing them too, so it’ll seem like she was trying to fake a robbery. All of this will be driven home, of course, by sizeable deposits into an account that can just  _ barely _ be tracked back to Zelena - that’s one of the places that Elsa will come in. It won’t be real money, of course - I don’t share well with others,” she laughs, drawing an amused snort out of Regina, “but the  _ appearance _ of a bank transaction. Elsa’s already assured us she can do it. We play all this right… I think we can pull it all off. If not forever - which I genuinely believe is possible - then at least long enough to cover our tracks.”

“Ok, so Elsa’s doing this bank thing, and obviously like security cameras and shit,” Ruby cuts in, “but what about the rest of us? I assume you have more in mind for us than just showing up the night of the heist and hoping for the best.”

“I do, actually, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Emma’s first impression of Ruby had been that she was a firecracker, smart as a whip and saucy to boot, and nothing she’s seen so far has proved otherwise.

“Any time, babe,” the brunette winks back.

“To start with, you and I have already talked about the vault, and especially how it needs fingerprint verification for access from one of a handful of curators and guards. Regina’s got a friend who owns a bar nearby, and it’s the regular drinking hole for a good chunk of the gallery’s staff. Robin’s agreed for you to pick up shifts there. How are your bartending skills?”

“Good enough to pour beer or get people straight-up trashed. You’re thinking lift the prints off a glass, I take it?”

“Great minds,” Emma smirks.

“Or something,” Ruby grins back. “How am I going to know who has the clearance, though?”

“That’s the other part of it. Tink, we’ve arranged an internship for you. If you don’t know anything about 19th century art… time to hit the books. You’ll be working behind the scenes with the registrar, helping them load and the like. Really, what you’re there for is two fold: finding out for Ruby who exactly has access to the vault, and scanning stuff for Belle. We’re going to fit you out with a pair of glasses that’ll scan works and transfer them back here. Belle, I don’t think we’ll need to send you in as anyone but yourself, but we’ve got contingency plans to sneak you in as a conservation analyst if need be. That’s a thing, right?”

Belle laughs - a lovely tinkling sound like her namesake. “I think the term is conservator, unless I’ve been lied to in school for years, but that’ll work too. But where do you play into this?”

“I’ll be working in their offices, with the documentation,” Regina contributes, “and Emma will be filling in where necessary. Mostly recon, trying to figure out how their security works and coordinating the rest of us.”

“Which just leaves me,” Killian smirks from his perch. Is that a word that describes a voice? Emma isn’t sure she cares - it’s a little too fitting not to use. “Any unusual items you need me to procure? Or tasks to undertake? I think I’m a little too striking to truly fly under the radar as a personal assistant or some such.”

“Humble, too,” Emma replies dryly. 

“Naturally. Really though, lass, what have you got for me?”

“I mean, we kind of already covered you,” Emma points out. “It’s definitely a good idea to get something for bronze molds, though, thanks for that. We’ll talk about the actual night of the heist once that gets closer, but I figure you’ll be one of our van drivers if you’re fine with that. Otherwise…” She sighs. This is the bit she’s still hesitant about, though there’s not really a way around it. “Otherwise, you’ll be with me. Two people chatting looks a lot less suspicious than one person loitering. That work for you?”

“Aye aye, captain,” he snarks back. Or maybe just replies. Maybe Emma’s being a bit too hard on him… but then again, the attitude. Cheeky bastard. 

She doesn’t have time to dwell on that, though, not with the rest of the room still waiting for instructions. Glancing up at the screen, it’s obvious that Emma stopped flipping through slides about halfway through. Oh well. “That’s all I’ve got for the group at large. Regina’s got individual packets for each of you, so pick those up and see one of us if you need further clarification. Cool?” Everyone agrees, either making affirmative-ish noises or nodding. “Cool. See you all tomorrow.”

The group doesn’t exactly scatter after that - Ruby and Belle are in the middle of some sort of conversation, and Elsa is obviously trying to clarify some point with Regina while Tink pages through her packet - but it’s obvious that business is over as things wander back towards a more casual and collegiate tone. Emma busies herself with trying to click through the remaining slides to the end, if only to make wrangling the program on the computer easier once she digs it out from wherever Regina’s hidden it. It’s a great way to be waiting for questions without looking like it, too. 

She should have figured, though, that Killian Jones would be the one to approach her. That’s how her luck seems to run most of the time. Quickly, she pastes on the closest thing to a helpful smile she can manage - hidden teeth, somewhat strained, but still a smile. Or at least close enough. “What can I do for you, Jones?”

The swagger and the smirk weren’t a good way to start this, setting Emma on edge before he even utters a word. Though what he says doesn’t help when it does come. “I just had a couple comments about your plan, lass,” he starts.

Maybe there’s more. Emma doesn’t really wait to find out. This is exactly why Emma didn’t want a man on her team - they never handle playing second fiddle to a couple of women well, fully convinced of the superiority of their own approach. Never mind the fact that Emma’s spent countless hours crafting and perfecting this plan, to the point that she  _ knows _ , beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it’ll work. “Look, if you don’t like the plan, then… well, tough shit,” she bites back. “Are there refinements to be made, some details we can still tweak? Sure, maybe. But the broad strokes are set in stone, and we’re going to follow them. And they’re going to work. So if you don’t like it —”

“No, no, that’s not it,” Killian rushes to clarify. If Emma wasn’t so steamed herself, she would almost call the way his ears tinge red with embarrassment  _ cute _ . “I actually wanted to come over and tell you that it’s brilliant, really. I’ve never heard of anything like it, and I think it’s ingenious.”

Oh. “That’s… sorry I just jumped to conclusions, I just…”

“It’s your plan, your baby, I know,” he finishes. 

“Exactly.”

“It probably doesn’t help that I wasn’t who you would have picked for this without Regina’s lobbying.”

Emma does him the favor of not pretending otherwise. It’s what she would want in the same circumstances, at least. “You weren’t, no. But she speaks highly of your talents.”

They fall into an uncomfortable silence. Jones finally reaches up to scratch behind his ear bashfully, cocking his head and leaning into the gesture as if attempting to shake something loose in his head. “We didn’t get off on the right foot, did we?” he asks.

“Probably not,” Emma admits.

“Well let me fix that now.” He sticks his good hand out again to shake. “Hi, I’m Killian Jones, procurement specialist. It’s lovely to finally make your acquaintance, I’ve heard so much about your skills.”

Emma takes the outstretched hand with a wry smile. “Laying it on a little thick, are we?” she asks, letting the barest hint of teasing leach into her tone.

“I speak only the truth, love,” he replies with a twinkle in his eyes. Emma doesn’t correct him about the nickname; if she’s going to make an effort to think the best of him, that starts with assuming his predilection for nicknames is just that, instead of some devious plot to undermine her. “Everything I’ve heard today only confirms that you’re just as brilliant as rumored.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Emma replies. “If you’re half as talented as rumored, we’re happy to have you on board.”

“I can assure you, Swan, I’m more than worth any hassle I might present,” he winks back, “and I look forward to proving it to you.”

“Good.”

There’s so many ways this could play out, and Emma’s almost looking forward to see how it unfolds.

One thing’s for certain, though: Killian Jones is going to keep her on her toes, but she fully intends to lead the dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all coming together! I hope you liked it. Fun fact: that bit about Sven was the piece that unlocked the rest of the chapter for me. Writing, man.
> 
> Also posted on tumblr, where I'm @shireness-says. Come take a look.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and let me know what you thought!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking this out! It turns out that I hate posting schedules when I'm the one being scheduled, so I'll just get these up when I get them up. Be patient with me.
> 
> Also posted on tumblr - I'm @shireness-says. Come make friends.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
